I walk out on shaky legs. I can’t feel my legs, and I have to lean against the walls as I stagger through the house. I end up in a room full of people, and as I frown at the scene in front of me, trying desperately to work out where I even am, I wonder what in the hell could possibly have brought me to this particular moment in my life.
I can’t even remember whose house party this is. There’s a room full of people who’ve cleared a space in the middle to allow two fully grown men to wrestle in their boxers. I’m so drunk that for some reason it makes sense, even though it shouldn’t. I mean, why not? Right?
And where is Milly, or Felix? Or…someone I recognise?
I find the lift and take it down to the lobby. The doorman eyes me like a cheap hooker that might give him AIDS. Stepping outside, I glance up and down the street. I have no idea where I am, or what time it is. There’s barely any traffic on the road, and I definitely won’t be able to hail a cab from here.
I find my phone and press redial, not really caring who I get. “Blake?” Felix answers.
“Are you in the party?” I ask, slumping against the side of the building.
“What party? I’m at the club.”
“But you’re always at the party.”
He sighs into the receiver. “For fuck’s sake. Where are you?”
I look around again, trying to recognize anything, but I don’t. “I don’t know.”
“Can you ask someone where you are?”
“I left. I’m outside.” I tell him. A cold wind blows and I shiver.
“On your own?” His voice lowers.
“There’s a man here. He’s looking at me funny.” I glance back through the glass door and the doorman glares at me from inside.
“A man?”
“The doorman.”
“Okay, ask him where you are. But don’t let him touch you, okay?” He talks to me like I’m a child.
“No, he thinks I have AIDS.”
“What? Look, just ask him.”
I push open the glass door into the building and stagger up to the man, holding the phone at my side. “Where am I?” I blurt.
“Camden,” he says.
“Please, can you give my friend the address?” I hand him the phone and he takes it, a look of distaste all over his face.
He reels off the address and then pauses for a moment, his eyes going wide as he looks at me again. “Yes, sir,” he says politely before hanging up the phone. “Your friend will be fifteen minutes. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’ll wait outside.” I snatch the phone from him and push through the glass door. I slide down the wall and lean back against the building, closing my eyes for a second. The cold wind lashes against me, making me shiver and sobering me instantly. I could move, but it seems like so much effort, so I close my eyes and wait for Felix.
Eventually, a black BMW rolls up to the curb, and I’m sure I’m about to be propositioned for sex, but instead of a window rolling down, the engine cuts and the driver’s door opens. I don’t know who I expected to see, but it wasn’t Rhett.
“Shit, Blake. What are you doing out here?” He scowls at me, crossing the pavement and dropping to a crouch in front of me.
I frown. “Where’s Felix?”
“He called me.” His eyes flick over me. “I guess clothes give you hives too, huh?” What is he on about? “And why the fuck is your bra strap broken?” His voice drops to something dark and threatening.
“What?” I glance down at myself, and I’m wearing just a bra, the broken bra strap hanging loosely from one shoulder. “Oh, I really liked that top,” I say through clenched teeth.
He inhales sharply and releases a long breath. “Okay, up.” He takes my hand and drags me to my feet. I wobble and lean into his side as he guides me to the car. I fall into the leather seat and he leans over me, buckling my seat belt. Mmm, he smells good. Manly.
I reach out and run my fingers through his thick hair. He cocks an eyebrow and an amused smirk crosses his features. “You done?” he asks.
I pull my hand away and scowl at him for ruining my fun.
He closes the door and gets in the driver’s side. “You’re fucking blue, Blake,” he chastises, cranking up the heat in the car. The hot air hits my exposed skin and I wince away from the sting of the sudden temperature change. He places a hand on my bare thigh as he drives, rubbing his palm over my skin. I know he’s trying to warm me up, but his hand is having more than just a heating effect.
I’m still drunk, and even the lightest of caresses feel entirely too much, and it’s Rhett—the hot stranger with the beautiful face and the hypnotic eyes. I mean, if I had to create a male sex doll I would base it on this guy. He’s pure temptation and his hand on my thigh is too much. Yes, his hand. On. My Thigh. Even for me that’s ridiculous, but a girl cannot be held accountable for her actions when under the influence and in the presence of that.
I want to touch him, taste him, fuck him. So I do. I trail my hand over his chest as he drives. Smiling, he offers me a sideways glance.
He’s wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans with a leather jacket. It looks good on him, really good. My fingertips brush over the material of his t-shirt, feeling each bump of every ab as I go, and never mind butterflies, it’s like a swarm of condors just took flight in my stomach. Inching my fingers under the material, I press my hand against his hot skin.
He hisses a breath, his muscles tensing. “Shit, you’re cold.”
“I hear ice cubes are considered erotic.”
“Well, they’re not,” he grumbles but makes no attempt to remove my hand. I scratch my nails lightly over his smooth skin.
Releasing his seat belt, I slide my finger beneath the waist band of his jeans, unfastening the button and lowering his fly. Again he says nothing and it only eggs me on, determined to get a reaction from him. I shove the elastic of his boxers down, exposing half his cock, but well, I don’t need more than that. He glances at me and lifts a brow, a blatant challenge. My head is still spinning as I lower my face to his lap and flick my tongue over his semi-hard cock, which jerks, growing as I wrap my lips around the head and suck.
I spit on it and he groans. “Shit, Blake.”
Wrapping my lips around him, I gently scrape my teeth over his length, making his entire body shudder. I’m drunk as fuck and making Rhett Torres squirm, I feel like fucking God.
The car stops moving, and then his hand is in my hair, the other tugging his boxers and jeans further down. He pushes lightly on the back of my head, and maybe I should be indignant about it but I’m not. I love that he knows what he wants, that he takes it without apology, without any of the niceties and bullshit. He hits the back of my throat and I swallow, trying not to gag. I bob up and back down, and this time, I do gag.
“Choke on my dick, Duchess,” he groans. My pussy clenches at his words and I moan around his cock. His hips move in rhythm, meeting my mouth with every thrust until he’s fucking my face.
My nails dig into the tops of his thighs, and I offer just a hint of teeth. He stiffens, calling me every filthy name under the sun as his salty come hits the back of my throat. I swallow everything he gives me and then lick him clean.
When I sit up, his head is thrown back against the head rest. His broad chest rises and falls on heavy breaths, and he swallows, his Adams apple bobbing up and down in a way that makes me want to drag my teeth over every inch of him. Squeezing my thighs together, I try to find just a little friction, and then decide it’s best not to look at him. He’s not helping.
I hear him zip his fly, and then he’s pulling away from the side alley he parked in. Neither of us says anything until he stops outside the Carlton hotel.
“This isn’t my house.”
“Observant. You can stay with me,” he says. I don’t care right now, I just want a bed.
I shove the door open and the cold outside suddenly feels icy after the heat of the car. Shivering, I prepare to make a run for it inside. He leans over my lap and yanks the door sh
ut.
“Duchess, as much as you seem to like running around in your bra, it’s cold.” He shrugs out of his leather jacket and grabs my wrist, shoving it through the arm. I pull my other arm through the sleeve and smile, it’s warm and it smells of him, mixed with the scent of leather.
“Thanks.” Rhett Torres, the dangerous gentleman.
I wake up in the morning and instantly know there’s someone else in the bed. Inwardly groaning at myself, I pull the duvet over my face. Why do I do this?
There’s movement from the other side of the bed. “What time is it?”
I frown. “Rhett?”
Pulling the duvet down, I crack an eye open and am met with his golden irises. He silently raises an eyebrow at me. I lean up on my elbows and blow a strand of hair out of my face.
“Uh…you were so great last night.” I plaster a smile on my face, even though my head feels like an angry gorilla just took up residence inside it.
“Really?” he asks sardonically.
I flop back on the bed. “Okay, I can’t remember,” I admit. “But I’m like ninety percent sure you rocked my world.”
“Wow, you really need to lay off the drink, Duchess.” His voice is raspy from sleep and it makes it even sexier than normal.
I swat at him. “I’m not a morning person.”
“And by that, you mean you have spontaneous amnesia?”
“It’s coming back to me.” I force my throbbing brain to remember something. “You picked me up…” Fuck, I can’t remember anything. If I actually added up all my lost memories, I reckon I’m probably missing about six months of my life, but I bet they were fun. Maybe I should try sobriety. Okay, I can’t even think that with a straight face.
“And you fell asleep before I could even get you out of that lovely outfit.”
I glance down at my tiny beaded skirt, bra and oversized leather jacket that smells of him.
“Where’s my top?” I ask.
“You tell me. I found you like that.”
“Damn it, I like that top.”
He shoves the duvet off and sits on the edge of the bed. “So you said, several times. What you did not explain, however, is how your bra got broken.” There’s an edge to his voice, something I’ve never heard before, and it sends up warning flags. My mind blinks like a broken light, something furry, a guy…
“Uh, I don’t remember.”
His gaze lifts to mine and I almost want to flinch away, but instead I focus on a spot on the duvet. The mattress shifts, and then his fingers are around my jaw, forcing me to look at him as he kneels over me.
“I know how it looks, and I’m telling you, if that’s the case, I will find out,” he says.
I swallow hard and want to make a smart remark, but my mouth has gone dry. The independent woman I know I should be is screaming at me to tell him to fuck off, but the less civilized, less rational side of my mind is ready to strip off and fuck him like a cheap hooker. Why is that alpha male shit so hot?
“Okay,” I whisper.
As he holds my gaze, that spark of possession in his eyes, my breath quickens along with my pulse. His expression gradually softens and he leans forward, dragging his lips over mine. His fingers dig into my jaw, demanding, controlling, as he tilts my head back and bites my bottom lip.
“We need to go. I have a meeting this morning,” he says against my lips, giving me one last kiss and releasing me. I’m drunk on him, my head spinning as I try to focus on anything that doesn’t involve him, his lips, or his dick.
He slips a pair of suit trousers on and my stomach sinks a bit. If my vagina could scowl it would be right now.
Screw him with his, ‘I’m so goddamn sexy’ thing. I can do that…with about two hours preparation. God knows what my face looks like right now. One can only hope the homeless crack whore look is his thing.
“Okay.” I get off the bed and shrug out of his leather jacket before reaching around and unzipping my skirt, allowing it to slip down my thighs. He pauses half way through pulling his shirt on, his gaze fixed on my body. I cock a brow and reach behind me again unfastening my bra. I pause for a second, and his eyes narrow. Slowly, I slide the straps down my arms, holding the bra out between my fingers and dropping it onto the floor.
“I need a shower first.” I flick my hair over my shoulder as I turn away from him, putting just a little pop into my hips as I walk to the en-suite. See, I can do his …thing he does.
I leave the door open a crack as I turn the shower on. I slide my thumbs into the sides of my lace knickers before hands slam over mine, stopping me from pushing them down my legs.
“You’re going to pay for that little show, Duchess,” he growls against my ear, pressing his hard cock into the crack of my arse. My whole body trembles with want. He bites down on my earlobe and rips the lace at my hips until the scrap of material falls to the floor.
“You keep ruining my underwear.”
“Good. Stop wearing it.” His breath stirs my hair.
“That’s awfully slutty,” I breathe.
He cups me roughly, pressing one finger against my clit. I throw my hand out against the glass shower wall, bracing against his onslaught. “I like you slutty,” he murmurs.
Oh god, I’m such a raging whore for him.
“Spread,” he growls, and I spread my legs willingly, my body bowing to his commands almost involuntarily.
He moves his finger over my clit, swiping across my entrance and dragging the moisture over me in a circular motion. His dick pushes against me, rubbing, pressing, threatening.
I gasp as his finger pushes inside me, driving me insane. His teeth sink into my neck and I can feel myself on that blissful brink, ready to fall headfirst into whatever torturous pleasure Rhett is willing to give me, but then he stops, and I want to scream in frustration.
“Patience, Duchess.” He laughs.
Patience! He wants me to have fucking patience? Spinning me around, he pins me against the shower wall by my throat. My eyes flutter closed and I swallow hard as he brings his face close to mine, brushing his lips down my cheek and kissing the corner of my mouth.
“Tell me, did you fuck anyone last night?” he asks. My eyes flash open and my body stiffens. “Ah, ah, ah.” He shakes his head. “It’s a simple question, Blake.” Shifting his hand from my throat, he grabs my hair, pulling my head back and forcing me to look up at his much taller frame. “I don’t do double dipping, Duchess, and I’m really not good at sharing my toys.”
“Good job, I’m not your fucking toy then,” I bite. When did this become a thing? I feel like I missed something.
He laughs. “So you don’t want me to play with you?” Damn him and his stupid sex appeal, and damn my traitorous hormones for being so into him. He brings his lips close to my ear. “Did. You. Fuck. Anyone?” The words are a guttural growl and I can feel myself getting wetter, seduced by that possession, the hint of jealousy in his voice.
My gaze fixes on him and the gold of his irises seem to swirl as though molten. Something in me bows under the weight of his stare, and the retort on the tip of my tongue dies away. “No.”
There’s a beat of silence and all I can hear is our intermingled breaths.
“Good,” he whispers, and then his lips are on mine, his tongue thrusting inside my mouth in nothing short of an assault. He picks me up around my waist and I spread my legs, wrapping my thighs around his hips. He moves, stepping into the shower and slamming my back against the tile. Reaching over, he turns on the shower and I gasp as cold water hits my skin before warming. Gripping my jaw, he forces me to tilt my head back, exposing my throat. His touch is forceful, demanding, and I love it.
Teeth skim down my throat and I moan, digging my nails into his shoulders as my back bows, my body straining to get closer to him. His cock nudges against me, and then he’s sliding inside, inch by inch. My mouth drops open on a silent scream, my pussy clenching around him, adjusting to the sudden yet welcome intrusion.
A groan slip
s from his lips and he buries his face into my neck as he bites down on my shoulder. “Fuck, Duchess.”
He thrusts inside me as the water cascades between us, our bodies slapping together. I grab handfuls of his dark hair, which looks even sexier wet, and pull him towards me. Our lips meet as he fucks me until I feel like I can’t breathe—until the need to come is all I can think of, all I can feel. His fingers dig into my hips harder, pinning me to the wall as he pulls out of me.
My feet have barely touched the ground before he drops to his knees in front of me, hooking one of my legs over his shoulder. Glancing up at me, a sexy smile touches his lips as his eyes lock with mine. There’s something incredibly hot about seeing Rhett on his knees, as though he’s worshiping me. Tilting my head to the side, I flash him a smile of my own before I use my leg to yank him forward into my pussy. He laughs as he swipes his tongue over my clit and, holy shit, his tongue is magic. My fingers grip his hair as my hips roll shamelessly, fucking his face. I watch him fuck me with his mouth, and the view alone has me hurtling full speed towards an orgasm.
“Oh, shit!” I moan as my body tightens and waves of pleasure ripple through my core. He stands up and he’s frantically stroking himself, fisting his cock hard enough that his forearm is roped in veins.
His abs tense and flex with each heavy breath, the muscles in his thighs tightening. Throwing his free hand out, he braces it against the wall next to my head. I can feel his ragged breaths on my lips as he groans, his eyes slamming shut as the corded muscles of his neck pop out. His come hits my stomach before it’s washed away.
He hangs his head, resting it on my shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. I brush the hair off his forehead, and he lifts his face, his golden gaze crashing into mine.
I don’t do this. Whatever this is, but he makes me want it.
“I’m starving!” I whine, hanging my head back off the edge of the bed.
Rhett’s feet come into view and I roll onto my front, watching as he fastens a cuff link. “I’ll feed you and take you home, but I have to make a stop on the way.”
“What kind of stop?”
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